


You've Got Some Nerve Showing Your Face 'Round Here

by orphan_account



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should’ve expected /someone/ would find him here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got Some Nerve Showing Your Face 'Round Here

I. Trip

Cass isn’t pretending that she didn’t plan this. She tilts her head as Jason boards the plane, but looks down at the outline of the pull-out tray attached to the back of the seat instead. He recognizes her immediately, stopping foot traffic down the aisle at he stares at the B16 on his ticket. Right next to Cass. Of course. His face twists into a weak snarl as he slumps into his seat. Jason looks to his right, glaring at the feet of the hefty business person previously behind him as he passes.

He pouts to himself, chin glued to his hand as he sneers at nothing, until the plane takes off. He lets out a small snort of a sigh, and says, with composure,

“Did Sunshine put you up to this?”

She shakes her head, her eyes shifting over him yet again. He feels so vulnerable around her. She sizes people up and exploits their weaknesses. It’s what she does. It makes her special. It’s what makes Bruce love her so much. She’s /special/. Jason thinks he hates her.

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.” Jason thinks he hates /everybody/.

II. Alarm

Jason’s safehouse is just as clean and organized as he left it. He sleeps in the bed with most of his clothes still on—his leather jacket strewn over the lamp on the nightstand. His alarm is set for six-thirty PM, and he plans on waking up then. It’s not like he has a service to go to. Not anymore.

He’s woken up instead not by the light weight straddling his hips, but the thin finger on his lips. Only the smallest gasp-groan escape him before she presses the finger to his lips again.

Her finger drips down his chin and circles the center of his chest. The touch is too gentle to be sure. Her finger barely grazes him as it settles. She lifts it after a moment, looks as if she’s memorizing every inch of his body that she can see. He thinks her head wavers, not a tilt, not a nod, but a tremble that rushes through to her fingertips as she presses her palm to his chest and begins to grind against his figure under the blanket. He lets her. When he’s hard, he sits up, lets his own fingertips find their way to the small of her back. She lets out a small, telling sound, and Jason wishes that he could see her eyes behind her mask. She squeezes his shoulder. He can feel her cock press into his stomach beneath her cup. Her fingernails press into his skin even beneath the T-shirt, and he comes.

When he comes he’s overcome with guilt he doesn’t understand. He lets her continue to grind against his stomach. Something burns in his eyes he doesn’t want to understand, and before he knows it he’s clutching her form to his body, squeezing tight. Her breath comes out in a short gasp in his ear, and she lets go of his shoulder with one last squeeze. He can’t bring himself to keep holding her, though he desperately wants to. He knows she can tell. Her heartbeat pumps against his chest, and its not from the strain of /dryhumping/. He drops his hands, and she drops hers. She sits in his lap for a moment, just looking at him. And then she knocks him out.

IIV. Dreams

Jason didn’t know what to bring. Flowers sounded cliché, trite. And sure enough, it’s already covered with them in Robin reds, yellows and greens and Nightwing blues. (It’s been more than a week since the service. They must’ve kept bringing them every day.) Jason considered chocolate, as stupid as it sounds. He settles on something even stupider.

He lays a crowbar on Bruce’s grave. “It’s… it’s not what you think.”

“I think it is.”

“/You don’t know me/.”

“I know the story.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tim’s told me. ‘Everybody knows the story.’ Of the dead Robin. Who came back to life and became a /monster/.”

She smiles at his back. “You tried to steal his tires.”

He turns, eyes wide behind the mask.

“You couldn’t get them off after you undid the screws. He caught you with a crowbar in your hands.”

Jason’s lip trembles. “He told you that?”

“He loved you.”

“I…”

“He loved you when you came back. He loved you when you held a gun to the Joker’s head. He loved you in prison and he loved you when you killed.”

“Shut up.”

“You know how I know?”

“Shut up.” His voice rises.

“You believe me.”

“Shut up!” He growls out. It sounds a lot like a broken sob from an angry, horrified man.

Cass stands there, in a pretty pink blouse, in a black skirt and studded boots. It occurs to him that he’s never seen her out of uniform in the five years they’ve known each other and worked in tandem. Her eyebrows furrow, and she frowns, looking at the ground.

And then he falls to it on his knees with another sob. “Shut up!”

She didn’t say anything.

“I… I loved him.”

“Until the very end.”

“/Still/.”

“Still,” she repeats with a nod. She bends to her knees in front of him, rests a hand on the back of his neck and squeezes. “Still.”

She slowly wraps her arms around him, and he clutches her with another sob. He won’t be able to let go this time, he thinks. Maybe not ever.

IV. Home

Jason doesn’t see her again on the flight back home. He doesn’t see her again for a very, very long time. Black Bat becomes The Bat. One day Dick stops pretending to be something he’s not, and Cass is confused for Batman so often it becomes the truth. He wonders if she’s happy. He wonders if he’d be able to tell if she was.

When they meet the next time, so quickly he’s not sure it’s even /real/, she says two words, and then she’s gone. “Come back.”

So he does.


End file.
